fitting tribute (m)

Jimmy (or more formally, James Francis) was a fraternal twin.  He got the short end of the stick in his mother's womb as his twin, Anthony, must have had more than his fair share of amniotic nutrients.  Anthony was taller, charismatic, handsome, athletic.  Jimmy looked like an elf--pointy ears that stuck out, short, dark and needing thick eyeglasses even as a toddler.

My older brother Joe was their contemporary.  The three boys grew up in the same triple-decker house for the first several years of their lives.  Then, my family moved up and out to a single-family home.

Jimmy's teenage years were no better.  Anthony played the drums for the Drum and Bugle Corps.  Jimmy cleaned the bus for the team.  Anthony got the girls.  Jimmy got asked by the girls to curry favor with his brother on their behalf.

In the 1960s, my Aunt Phyllis and my mother sweated out the whole Vietnam War situation.  Would the boys get drafted?  My brother --a straight A student--got a college deferrment.  The twins drew low numbers in the draft lottery (not good).  Surprisingly, Anthony got a medical exemption.  Something to do with bad knees and/or flat feet.  Jimmy got drafted.  Jimmy, of all people, was going to join the Marines.

At his send-off party (we were careful not to call it a Farewell Party), even the uncles cried.  As I saw the party through the eyes of a child, I couldn't understand why it was such a bummer.  Looking back now through the eyes of a mother, I understand. 

I wrote to Jimmy all the time while he was in Vietnam.  I treasured those letters back from him.  They were so exotic with that blue crinkly paper and the airmail stamps.

Jimmy returned home from Vietnam a hero, having served in three campaigns. Not a scratch on him.  Amazing.

You would think his life would have improved after that but it didn't.  He watched his four siblings get married and have children.  He lived with his mother.  He struggled with alcohol and depression.

This past February, one month after his 65th birthday, Jimmy died from complications after an operation to address vascular issues in his leg.  His mother, now 95 years old, held him in her arms as she frantically called 911.

In another stroke of bad luck, Jimmy died the week Aunt Y and Cousin Mary were on their deathbeds.  The three of them died within a few days of each other.  None of us went down to South Carolina to pay our respects to Jimmy as we were tending to Y and Mary here. 

But this story has a good ending.  Today, 60 family members and friends gather to pay tribute to Jimmy with a memorial plaque honoring his years of service to our country.  A state senator, the Mayor of our hometown, members of City Council and his niece read proclamations honoring Jimmy.  "Once a Marine, always a Marine," someone reads.  I notice a Marine in the honor guard wipe a tear away from his eyes.

The sign in the square, which previously bore the name of my father and four of his brothers, is covered in black cloth.  My aunt Phyllis, Jimmy's 95-year old mother, is given the honor of pulling the cloth off the sign to reveal the name of her son, who now joins his uncles in a permanent place of honor in his hometown.

Finally, Jimmy has the respect and recognition he deserves.